Power and Control
by A Spot of Bother
Summary: A Ventrue knows how to recognize and utilize a valuable asset. A look into what might have happened if LaCroix had been a little more willing to put aside his vendetta and take advantage of the fledgling's knack for continuing to survive everything her first nights threw at her. Eventual canon divergence. Cross-posted to AO3.
1. Chapter 1

(A/N): There is not enough love for this game.

Disclaimer: Disclaimed

Chapter One

Sebastian LaCroix paused in the shadows of the stage left wing, letting his gaze sweep over what he could see of the theater as he straightened his cuff links. The seats were mostly unoccupied, handfuls of allied kindred clumped together amidst a sea of red velour. It would have been a poor turn-out for an Anarch rally – for a court called by a Camarilla prince, it was an insult.

Yet another slight against his rule. Damn them. He lifted his chin. He wouldn't give any of those in the audience the satisfaction of acknowledging this blatant disrespect, but he would take careful note of those who had chosen not to answer his summons. At least he could take comfort in knowing tonight's proceedings would finally rid him of a troublesome thorn in his side.

His footsteps echoed hollowly as he stepped out onto the stage, his sheriff a towering shadow over his right shoulder. The prisoners were already kneeling, slumped over the wooden boards, still staked and in torpor – Liam Tate and his ill-begotten childe. Sebastian passed neatly around them as he strode to the stage's edge. "Good evening," he said, voice pitched to carry in the theater's open space. "My fellow kindred, my apologies for disrupting any business or interfering with prior engagements you may have had this evening. It's unfortunate that the affair that gathers us together tonight is a troubling one."

Twin fleshy squelches sounded from behind him as the prisoners' stakes were removed. He heard the fledgling take a great, gasping breath, but there was no sound from her sire.

"We are here because the laws that bind our society – the laws that are the fabric of our existence – have been broken."

The crowd was restless, bored, and doing little to conceal it. He could hear the Anarchs whispering amongst themselves, watched as a scantily-clad Toreador blatantly ignored his speech in favor of flirting (fruitlessly) with the Tremere regent. He took a deep breath, pressing his lips together in a hard line before pushing on.

"As Prince, I am within my rights to grant or deny the kindred of this city the privilege of siring. Many of you have come to me seeking permission, and I have endorsed some of these requests."

Isaac Abrams, Anarch baron of Hollywood, blatantly checked his watch. LaCroix had the overwhelming urge to plunge into the kindred's mind and force him to swallow the offending piece of jewelry. He squared his shoulders, clasping his hands behind his back.

"However, the accused that sits before you tonight was not refused permission. Indeed, my permission was never sought at all."

_That_ was finally enough to command their attention. Violations of the Traditions – especially those that threatened the Masquerade – were not matters to be taken lightly.

"He was caught shortly after the Embrace of this childe," LaCroix continued, gesturing toward the kneeling fledgling. For a moment, his gaze locked with hers. Her eyes were filled with confusion and fear; she struggled briefly against the grip of the guard holding her, but the man twisted her arms behind her and she desisted. She tried to hold his gaze, but he only turned away to face his audience once again. "It pains me to announce the sentence, as up to tonight I considered the accused a loyal and upstanding member of our organization. But as some of you may know, the penalty for this transgression is death."

Liam loosed a short, bitter laugh, but offered no other comment.

"Know that I am no more a judicator than I am a servant to the law that governs us all. Let tonight's proceedings serve as a reminder to our community that we must adhere to the code that binds our society, lest we endanger all of our blood."

He turned toward Liam, leaning down so his words wouldn't carry. "Forgive me."

The Toreador's lip curled as he glared up at him. "I'll save you a place in Hell, LaCroix."

"I have no doubt." He stepped back, nodding to his sheriff. "Let the penalty commence."

He watched the crowd impassively as the kindred's massive sword separated Liam's head from his neck, taking mental note of those in the audience whose expressions betrayed any hint of resentment or sympathy as the man's body burned from the inside out.

He took a step forward as the last of the former traitor's body crumbled to ash. "Which leads to the fate of the ill-begotten progeny," he said, drawing every eye back to him. "Without a sire, most childer are doomed to walk the earth never knowing their place, their responsibility, and most importantly, the laws they must obey." He spared another glance back at the unfortunate childe. She was beginning to hyperventilate, her Beast no doubt howling for self-preservation beneath her skin. He afforded her a small, sympathetic smile before he turned his back on her. "Therefore, I have decided that – "

"This is bullshit!"

Nines Rodriguez leapt to his feet, two of his companions having to restrain the dark-haired de-facto leader of the Anarchs from rushing the stage. Internally, LaCroix seethed. How _dare_ he…? Before he could formulate a suitably scathing request for the man to _sit down_ and stop disrupting the proceedings, the unrest spread. Following Nines' example, kindred across the theater jumped up, voicing their displeasure. LaCroix's posture stiffened, but his expression remained implacable as he waited for the outburst to die down.

"If Mr. Rodriguez would let me finish," he said coolly as the worst of the din faded. The shouted complaints died away, but the upturned faces remained skeptical at best, outright hostile at worst. Sebastian suppressed a sigh. It seemed there was no other alternative. "I have decided to let this kindred live. She shall be instructed in the ways of our kind and be granted the same rights." He locked eyes with Nines. "Let no one say I am unsympathetic to the plights and causes of this community."

Nines shook off the restraining hands of his comrades, shooting LaCroix a final unfriendly look before he turned and started for the exit. The tension ebbed as the other Anarchs watched him stride away.

"I thank you all for attending these proceedings, and I hope their significance is not lost," LaCroix called out as his audience began to trickle out of the theater, muttering amongst themselves. "Good evening."

No one deigned to acknowledge he'd spoken. Miscreants. He set his jaw and gestured for the sheriff to follow as he turned and strode backstage. "Clean up this mess," he shot over his shoulder at the guard still standing over Liam's ashes. He glanced toward the fledgling, who was rising shakily to her feet and regarding him with wide, wary eyes. LaCroix ignored her for the moment, sweeping past her and through the door into the narrow hall that led to the theater's rear entrance. He allowed a sigh to escape him as he turned to his enforcer. "Ensure our perimeter is still secure," he said. "I must speak with the childe; I will join you shortly."

The imposing kindred nodded, melting into the shadows as the door behind LaCroix clicked open. He glanced over his shoulder to find the fledgling being deposited none-too-gently at the head of the hallway, the guard nodding deferentially to him before he closed the door behind her. Sebastian turned to face her, studying her silently.

She was young, even by kine standards, with a head of short, vibrantly red hair framing a heart-shaped face dominated by large blue eyes. He supposed she could be considered quite lovely by modern standards – no doubt what had attracted the attention of her sire in the first place. The corner of Sebastian's lip curled in a bitter smile. Poor Liam –Toreadors could be so predictable.

She shifted uneasily beneath his gaze. "I – " She cleared her throat, running her tongue experimentally over her newly-acquired fangs before she took a deep breath and started again. "What the hell was that all about?"

"Ah, yes. Your sire – tragic," LaCroix said, closing the distance between them, not missing the way she tensed as he came to a halt before her. "My apologies, but you see, there is a strict code of conduct that all of us must...adhere to if we wish to survive. We cannot allow anyone to threaten our Masquerade. Violators are dealt with harshly, as you've just seen."

She shivered slightly. "You killed him."

"Yes. The laws that govern our kind are quite clear, and those who violate our rules of secrecy endanger us all."

She wrapped her arms around herself, not quite meeting his eyes. "What's going to happen now?"

Yes – what now? Damn Nines' interference. "What did your sire tell you of our kind?"

"Nothing," she said. "I'd only just...woken when we were attacked." A tremor ran through her. "He held me down. I begged him to stop. His blood was bloated with rot – "

"Enough," LaCroix said, a tad too sharply. He reigned in his irritation when she flinched. "It's in the past. Nothing can change it now. Fortunately, you've been granted the opportunity to transcend the fate woven by your sire."

"How?" she muttered. "By being your slave?"

He moved almost without thought, gripping her chin and forcing her head up so that her eyes met his. "I've shown great clemency by sparing your life, childe," he said, tone clipped. "I understand you are young, and that your Embrace was quite difficult. But I will not tolerate such insolence."

Her pupils were blown wide with fear. "I-I'm sorry," she stuttered, trying to shrink away from him.

He held her in place another second, making sure she was acutely aware how easy it was for him to do so, before he released her. "You are forgiven," he said as she backed away from him, rubbing gingerly at her face where his fingers had bruised her skin.

"So what am I?" she said.

An unwanted complication, he thought sourly. He tilted his head as he studied her. "You are my responsibility. You must understand – allowing you to live makes me directly responsible for your subsequent behavior. It is my head over which hangs the sword of Damocles, all for a fledgling I didn't create."

She stared at him. "Why do it, if it's such a burden?"

"Contrary to popular opinion, I'm not without pity. The world is not often kind to sireless childer – I hoped to spare you that fate."

"Oh." Her expression was more one of confusion rather than gratitude. "I – thanks?"

"What I'm offering is not generosity," he said.

He paused when his phone buzzed, fishing it from his pocket. "Excuse me." The screen lit up to reveal a message from his sheriff: _Sabbat forces moving in from the west. _Sabbat. Wonderful. As if this night needed another obstacle. He typed out a terse reply – _Handle it_ – before returning the phone to his pocket.

"Is something wrong?"

He glanced sharply at the fledgling, but her expression held nothing but unease. He shook his head. "Nothing you need to worry about." The wheels began to turn in his head, a plan coalescing as he studied her guileless eyes. "What's your name, childe?"

"...Madison."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. When had it become an acceptable practice to introduce oneself by one's given name only? Exactly how far was kine society going to allow itself to fall? God save him from these modern nights. "I am Sebastian LaCroix, Prince of Los Angeles," he said, taking her hand and bowing over it like the officer he'd once been. "You may address me as your sire, or Prince LaCroix."

"Prince?" Her expression was deeply skeptical as she took her hand back, but he ignored it.

"As I said, sparing your life was not an act of simple generosity. This shall be your trial – you will be brought to Santa Monica, to a safe house the Camarilla have made use of in the past. There, you will meet with an agent named Mercurio, who will provide the details of your labor. I'll forward you resources to help better understand your nature, as well as any other orders to be carried out in my name. Once these tasks have been completed, you will be permitted to return to me. Do you understand?"

"I...guess?"

"What, exactly, do you find unclear in your instructions?"

She hesitated, searching his expression – for what, he couldn't say. "What if I can't do what you want me to?"

LaCroix frowned. "This is your chance to prove that sparing you was more than a wasted gesture." He leaned forward, into her space, holding her gaze as he slipped into her mind and exerted the slightest amount of his will. "Do not come back...until you do." He straightened, pushing open the door that led into the alley and holding it for her. "Good evening, fledgling."

She cast him a last miserably anxious look before she stepped through the door. She hesitated on the top step, whirling to face him again, but the door was already swinging closed. LaCroix let it fall shut in her face, then turned away to call a cab and fire off a message to Mercurio. He doubted she would survive the Sabbat raid, but there mustn't be any question that he had fully intended to send her to Santa Monica when she was cut down in the coming crossfire.

And if, by some miracle, she did survive the bloodshed...well, it was simply prudent to plan for all contingencies.

He dialed the sheriff as he strode back toward the front entrance of the theater. "I'm returning to my office," he said without preamble when he heard his enforcer's even breathing on the other end of the line. "I expect this situation to have been dealt with by the time I arrive there." He hesitated, glancing around to ensure he was alone on the stage. "Should you come across the fledgling in the coming fight, you are to neither help nor hinder her survival. Is that clear?" The sheriff grunted an affirmation, and LaCroix disconnected the call before sending a quick message to his driver to bring the car around to the front of the theater. That done, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and straightened his tie.

The night was young, and there was still much to do.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Disclaimed.

Chapter Two

Madison glared miserably at the theater's closed door. She felt off-kilter, out-of-sorts; she couldn't stop prodding at her newly-elongated canines, running her tongue against their sharpened points with an almost morbid fascination. The light bolted to the alley wall cast a dirty yellow pall over the narrow passageway, and strangely heightened sensations kept snagging in her mind like brambles: The _tick_ of rats' claws against asphalt at the far end of the alley, the pungent odor of rotting food from the dumpsters in the same direction, the dust motes whirling lazily through the sickly light.

And there, around the corner, pulling at the darkness within her – the scent of human blood, so overpowering she could taste the tang of iron and copper on her tongue. She whimpered, instinct taking over as the creature beneath her skin turned her away from the theater and toward nourishment.

The man fretting over his broken-down car never heard her coming. She needed no instruction, bone-deep instinct guiding her to launch herself at his unsuspecting back, clamping her legs tightly around his waist as she sank her fangs into his neck. The momentum of her attack toppled them both; the man struck the pavement with a startled grunt, barely able to comprehend what was happening before his eyes rolled back in his head and she began to feed in earnest.

The feel of his blood sliding down her throat was euphoric, setting every dead nerve alight – sustenance and power and panacea all in one, his faltering heart-beat the sweetest music she'd ever heard.

"Whoa, kid – ease up."

Someone laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. Madison lashed out, turning to snap her jaws at the offending appendage.

"Hey, _easy_."

The stranger evaded her teeth with ease, catching her face between his hands and kneeling to look her in the eye. "Look at me, kid," he said, voice coarse as gravel. "I know it's hard to concentrate with all that blood filling your senses, but you gotta try. You feel that thing inside you that wants to rip my head off so you can go back to draining this poor bastard? That's your Beast, and it's bad news. You give in, kill an innocent, it's gonna cost you a piece of your Humanity, and as one of the damned that's not something you can afford to lose, you hear me?"

Her lips skinned back from her teeth uncertainly as she stared at him. He was large and rough-looking, with dark hair that fell to his shoulders and a long, unkempt beard. He sighed. "Tossing you out half-frenzied into the night – that what he considers 'instructing you in the ways of our kind?' Fucking prick," he muttered. His dark eyes studied her closely. "What's your name, kid?"

She swallowed. "M-Madison."

He grinned, fangs the yellow of old bones in the shadows. "Hey, Madison. I'm Jack. You feeling in control yet, kiddo?"

She took a deep breath. The human's heartbeat was still thundering in her ears, the rush of his blood pulling at her like the moon pulled the tide, but she felt more in control, better able to resist its siren song. "I think so."

"All right," Jack said encouragingly. "Good." He took his hands away from her face, sitting back on his heels. "You wanna let go of that kine for me?"

"Kine?" Madison said, distracted as something within her snarled. This was _her_ prey. She shook her head.

"Kine – it's our word for human," Jack said. "Ignore that voice you got bitching in your head. You've had enough – there's no need to kill him. You've gotta control your Beast, or it'll control you. And if you let that happen...well, that's just a bad horror show. A dumb, desperate animal wearing your skin that'll do anything to survive. Except you'll be the one that'll have to deal with the consequences. So." He smiled humorlessly. "Wanna let him go?"

Madison glanced down at the unconscious form she was still straddling. He was pale, his breathing shallow, sweat beading on his clammy forehead. She didn't – she hadn't fed that deeply, had she? She'd just –

"It's okay, kid," Jack said, voice breaking into her churning thoughts. "Just stand up."

She made herself unclench her hands from the human's shoulders, stumbling to her feet and turning her back on his prone form. Jack rose to his feet, coming to stand in front of her as she leaned against the brick wall. "Good job, kid," he said. "First crisis as a kindred averted."

"Kindred," she muttered, wiping a hand down her face and grimacing when it came away bloody. "That the super-secret-club word for vampire?"

He threw his head back and laughed. "Least you still got your sense of humor," he chuckled.

"Yeah, tonight's just been a barrel of laughs," she said, sighing. She wiped the last of the blood from her chin as she considered him. "So, Jack, what are you doing out here?"

He scratched at his cheek. "Eh, I was inside, watched that whole shit-show they called a trial. Figured they'd just plop you out here like a naked baby in the woods without even filling you in on the basics."

She unconsciously hunched her shoulders, wrapping her arms around herself. "What exactly happened in there?"

"A dog and pony show dressed up to look legit." Jack sighed at her blank expression. "All right, kid, I'm gonna make this quick: You got some blood in ya, you're feeling all kick-ass, like you're a big, bad vampire – congrats. Now keep that shit to yourself. There's rules about letting the kine know we exist. Some folks call it the Masquerade, I call it common fucking sense. You keep our secret secret, you make life easier for all of us. You go around beating your chest and howling at the moon, you're gonna bring the Camarilla down on you. Or worse."

"The Camarilla?"

He gestured back at the theater. "The assholes who killed your sire. They uphold the Masquerade, make a tidy business out of enforcing 'vampire laws,' like who gets to sire and who doesn't. The poor schmuck who Embraced you didn't fill out the required paperwork so – oops! Off with his head."

She stared at him. "So that was them being the good guys?"

"Hmph." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, I'll tell you what I think some other time, maybe. I like to let people form their own opinions." He stiffened, head snapping toward the other end of the alley. "You hear that?"

"Hear wha – "

There was a squeal of brakes and burst of gunfire from the street. Jack grabbed her by the arm and began hauling her toward the nearest door. "Time to go, kiddo."

Two gunmen burst through the chain-link gate at the far end of the alley as they reached the door; Jack kicked it open so hard it rebounded off the wall, shoving her inside as their assailants opened fire. Madison felt the bullets tear into her side before she hit the concrete floor – teeth clenched against a scream, she scrambled further into the room before throwing a glance behind her.

The doorway stood empty; Jack was gone.

She pushed herself to her feet, weaving between hydraulic car lifts to snag a wrench from the wall-mounted tool rack. She hefted it with one hand, pressing the other gingerly against her side. Her fingers came away slicked with blood, but far less than she was expecting. In fact, the bleeding seemed to have already stopped. "What?"

Sounds of a scuffle drew her attention back to the alley. One of the gunmen stumbled into the doorway, reeling from an unseen onslaught. Madison brandished the wrench, but before either of them could react Jack was on the man, slamming his fist into the side of the assailant's head before he grabbed him by the chin and base of the skull and _twisted_. She heard the bones crack, watched the man's eyes roll back in his head as he convulsed. Jack, apparently not satisfied, lifted the man bodily into the air and broke his back over his knee, dropping the body to the floor before crushing its skull underfoot.

"Fucking – fuck!" Madison groaned, stomach churning as the man's body ignited, burning down to ashes in a matter of seconds.

"Goddamn wastes of unlife," Jack growled, stepping into the garage and closing the door behind him. Well, he tried – it wouldn't close properly, hanging crookedly on its frame. He glanced at her, noting the hand pressed to her side. "Didja get winged?" He didn't wait for an answer, covering the distance between them in three long strides and pulling her hand away with surprisingly gentle fingers. His lip curled in amusement. "Hey hey! Look at them potholes! Ah, don't worry, those'll close up soon enough – might be a good idea to feed again soon, though. It'll speed up the healing process."

"He shot me," Madison said, mind still trying to catch up with the events of the last minute.

"Yep," Jack confirmed cheerfully, taking a step back so he was no longer crowding her.

"How am I not – ?"

"Dead?" Jack supplied with a sardonic grin. He ushered her toward the stairwell. "Fringe benefits of joining the club, kid. All kindred have a few traits in common that set 'em a peg above humans on the food chain. Lucky for you, a body that can take a beating's one of 'em. Hell, you play your cards right, you got a real shot at immortality."

"Immortality? Really?" She tried but couldn't quite keep the skepticism from her tone.

"Mm-hmm. 'Course, it's no guarantee," he amended as he preceded her up the stairs. "You can still be destroyed, but forget that shit you might've gotten from the books and movies. Garlic's worthless, and a cross is only dangerous if it's backed by True Faith – and lemme tell ya, there's precious few kine around with that these days. A stake can't kill you, but it'll paralyze you if it catches you in the heart. Running water's no problem. I bathe...occasionally." He chuckled. "Now, a shotgun blast to the head? That's trouble. Fire? That's _real_ trouble. And you happen to catch a sunrise? That's it – it's all over. You getting all this, kiddo?"

"I think so," she said, rubbing at her forehead as she followed him down a dingy hallway.

"Good – might save your life some night. Now – " Gunfire erupted from the alley below. "God_dammit_," Jack growled, ducking against the wall opposite the windows. "Stay away from the windows."

Madison crouched next to him, flinching as one of the windows in question shattered in a hail of bullets. "What's going on out there?"

He scowled. "It's a Sabbat raid."

"And that is?"

"The Sabbat? They're, uh… Eh, Christ, I was hoping to spare you this shit 'til later," Jack muttered, carding a hand through his hair. "The Sabbat are mostly mindless, bloodthirsty assholes. They don't believe in the Masquerade and they fucking _hate_ the Camarilla. They must've got wind of the gathering here, figured it'd be a perfect opportunity to raise a little hell, put some heat on the new 'prince.'"

"So it's an undead turf war."

"Heh. You could say that. Truth is, you came along at a...well, let's say an _interesting_ time. The Camarilla, the Sabbat – they're the new kids around here. Lotta kindred already had stakes down in L.A. long before they got here, and now we got every ancient rivalry playin' out all over the city. That's a whole lotta jittery, high-strung predators trying to cling to their little pieces of eternity."

Madison frowned and wrapped her arms around her knees. "You know, this whole 'immortal vampire' thing is losing its luster fast."

He chuckled. "Sorry, kid, but there's just as many assholes dead as there were living, all still locked in the same old political bullshit and social backstabbing. It's enough to make you wanna rip someone's spine out." He grinned at the look she pinned him with. "No? Just me?"

Unearthly howls and blood-choked screams sounded from somewhere below them. "Finally," Jack muttered, pushing himself to his feet. "'Bout time the cavalry got here."

She rose cautiously to stand beside him, peering down into the alley just in time to witness the hulking creature that had decapitated her murderer disintegrate another vampire with a gesture. As the vampire's charred skeleton crumbled to ash, two ghostly wolves, jaws dripping with blood, rounded the corner and padded to the behemoth's side. As if sensing her scrutiny, he glanced up, his inhuman gaze finding hers almost immediately despite the distance and low lighting.

A shiver ran up her spine as she remembered the sound of the sword slicing through Liam's neck. "So what the hell is _he_?"

Jack grunted as the massive kindred turned away, his lupine companions trailing him through a wooden gate and out of sight. "That would be the sheriff – the prince's lapdog and enforcer all in one, and the only reason LaCroix wasn't immediately chucked out on his lily-white ass when he arrived claiming Camarilla sovereignty in L.A." He glanced at her and sighed. "Ah, hell – your head's probably spinning enough as it is. Tell you what, kid – you finish cleaning up LaCroix's messes, you come find me at the Last Round and we'll talk, okay?"

She shrugged helplessly and nodded. "Yeah, sure. Why not? Kindred 101 – you can forward me the syllabus."

"Thattagirl," he said, clapping her on the shoulder with a grin. "Now let's get the hell outta here while it's still quiet, yeah?" Not waiting for a response, he ducked through the shattered window and onto the fire escape. Madison gingerly followed, the rusted metal groaning in complaint.

The sky began to spit rain. She grumbled under her breath and folded her arms uselessly over her head. "Don't suppose being undead makes your hair any more manageable."

Jack laughed. "Sorry, kid, can't say I ever noticed."

A horn sounded from the street as their feet touched asphalt once again. "Welp, sounds like your ride's here," Jack said, glancing toward the end of the alley. He fixed her with a crooked smile. "Give 'em hell, kid."

Her own smile was less certain. "Right. Thanks, Jack."

"Don't mention it."

She nodded, trying to project a confidence she didn't feel, and walked out into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

(A/N): FFnet's paranoia about links is messing with the formatting for part of this chapter. Had to make some pretty stupid adjustments to make it display at all. Apologies.

Disclaimer: Disclaimed

Chapter Three

LaCroix frowned down at the pile of correspondence littering his desk. News of the Sabbat raid had spread like wildfire through the kindred community, so of course those who would otherwise deny his rule were clamoring for Camarilla protection, demanding to know how he planned to safeguard them from further attack. He had no doubt that however he chose to respond, the rabble would be convinced he was handling it poorly – such was the folly of leadership. As if he'd survived as long as he had and risen to his rank by basing his decisions on nothing more than whimsical tosses of the dart.

He sat back with a grimace, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. The city had languished too long under Anarch rule. They were uncoordinated, undisciplined – their staggering losses against the Kuei-jin were proof of that. They couldn't seem to grasp that the strong rose to positions of power for a _reason_, too in love with their prattle about _é__galit__é__ et_ _libert__é_. Their gross naiveté to the realities of the world would be amusing if it weren't a direct threat to Camarilla rule. To _his_ rule.

And Nines – his lip curled. They venerated him as a Prince, a populist savior for the common kindred. That he had _dared_ voice his objection to Camarilla law before the entire court… He needed to be dealt with. For all their collectivist propaganda, Nines was the figurehead the Anarchs rallied around. If he fell, the rest would scatter. Cut the head from a snake and the body might thrash, but it was only the last agonized spasms of a creature already dead.

He thumbed idly through the stack of papers before him, gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance. The Anarchs, the Kuei-jin, the Sabbat...he didn't lack for enemies these nights. He would have to keep them at one another's throats – he couldn't fight a war on three fronts.

The buzzing of his phone pulled him from his thoughts; he tilted the screen toward him to find an email notification from his newly adopted childe. His jaw tightened imperceptibly before he opened it.

**_ From: Madison Langford [suckhead at sol . vtm ] _**

**_ Subject: I'm here_**

_This place is a shit hole. Sir._

Sebastian's eyes narrowed. Clearly the fledgling felt safe enough, removed as she was from his presence, to fall back into flippant disrespect.

**_ RE: I'm here_**

_Do not test my patience with whining. I have made my tolerance for such behavior quite clear. It is discreet. That is all that matters._

_Is your email address meant to be amusing?_

_– SL_

He fired off his reply and tried to turn his attention back to his work, but his phone vibrated again almost immediately.

**_ From: Madison Langford __[suckhead at sol . vtm ]_**

**_ RE: I'm here_**

_I'm sorry. It's been a rough night._

_You can blame your man Mercurio for the email address. I'm heading out to see him now, sir._

_A rough night_. He frowned. As if the circumstances of her evening excused such insolence.

**_ RE: I'm here_**

_Very well. I expect you will conduct yourself accordingly._

_– SL_

Message sent, he set the phone aside and turned back to the myriad pleas, protests, and harassments spread across his work surface. He was allowed almost an hour of productivity before his phone buzzed again.

**_ From: Madison Langford __[suckhead at sol . vtm ]_**

**_ RE: I'm here_**

_So...I have a question._

**_ RE: I'm here_**

_Then ask._

_– SL_

**_ From: Madison Langford __[suckhead at sol . vtm ]_**

**_ RE: I'm here_**

_Promise you won't get mad?_

This was insufferable.

**_ RE: I'm here_**

_Why should I promise something so asinine? Ask your question or don't, but stop wasting my time._

_– SL_

Blessed silence. He picked up another petition, managed to scan a paragraph before his phone vibrated with another email notification.

**_ From: Madison Langford __[suckhead at sol . vtm ]_**

**_ RE: I'm here_**

_Someone told me we can't have sex. Is that true?_

LaCroix went perfectly, rigidly still.

**_ RE: I'm here_**

_I fail to see how this has any bearing on the tasks you have been assigned._

**_ From: Madison Langford __[suckhead at sol . vtm ]_**

**_ RE: I'm here_**

_It has "bearing" on my understanding of kindred society. You said you were going to teach me._

He was going to _flay_ Mercurio.

**_ RE: I'm here_**

_We are not discussing this._

**_ From: Madison Langford __[suckhead at sol . vtm ]_**

**_ RE: I'm here_**

_Why not?_

He grit his teeth. Why did she insist on pursuing this? Was it some quirk of her Toreador blood? Her clan did fall prey to their little obsessions, but usually only fixated upon baubles. Or…

His blood ran cold, brain racing. Sebastian had spent as little time as possible on the childe – he hadn't expected her to live long enough to make her worth any effort. The strength of her blood mattered little to him if it was splashed across an alley wall. But she had survived. And now this stubborn preoccupation with mortal passions that should no longer hold sway over her…

His phone vibrated in his hand.

**_ From: Madison Langford ___[suckhead at sol . vtm ]__**

**_ RE: I'm here_**

_You've made it very clear the way I conduct myself reflects on you. I can't avoid a faux pas if I don't know how. Sir._

The rationality of her argument calmed some of his agitation, but the specter of thin blood, once raised, was difficult to dispel. It was an eventuality he would have to worry about another time – if she truly was thin-blooded, it was doubtful she would survive much longer. For now, he set his jaw and answered her.

**_ RE: I'm here_**

_We are capable of the mechanics, yes. But we require blood to make the act pleasurable, and it is widely regarded as a needless waste. Blood should be a kindred's greatest passion. I trust we never need speak of this again._

_– SL_

He glared at the screen as he waited for her response.

**_ From: Madison Langford __[suckhead at sol . vtm ]_**

**_ RE: I'm here_**

_I understand._

_Thank you, sir._

Some of the tension bled from his shoulders. She wasn't even a night old – her ignorance was hardly her fault. He decided he could afford to be magnanimous.

**_ RE: I'm here_**

_Questions regarding your new life are understandable._

If infuriating.

_I will forward what material I'm able to answer any others you may have._

_– SL_

Anything to avoid another conversation like this one. He sank back in his chair, one hand rising to massage his temples. There was a reason he had never sired progeny, either before or after his death. To be saddled with one now – fate had an odd sense of humor.

He was still mulling over the vagaries of chance when his phone rang. His frown deepened when he saw the incoming call was from Maximillian Strauss. "Regent. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"Good evening, Prince LaCroix." The Tremere primogen's voice was placid as a still lake. "I apologize for having to trouble you further this night."

For the love of St. Martin – could no one in this damned city simply come out and say what they wanted? "How may I assist you, Strauss?" he asked, one hand still shadowing his eyes.

"I do not wish to add to your burdens, but an apprentice has made me aware of another breach in our Masquerade."

Sebastian straightened. "What? How?"

"It seems a Malkavian youth became enamored of a kine television show centered on 'exposing' the supernatural. To prove his admiration, he sent the producers a vial of werewolf blood."

Sebastian's temples began to throb in earnest. Of course the breach had come from one of the twice-damned Malkavians. "I see. Where is this blood now?"

"The show's producers forwarded it on to a blood clinic in Santa Monica. I can dispatch a neonate to retrieve it on your order."

Sebastian sat back, considering. "Why are you the one bringing me this news, Strauss? If the whelp is Malkavian, it should've fallen to his sire or primogen to inform me of his transgression."

Strauss hesitated. "It is my understanding the childe is Caitiff, with no sire willing to acknowledge him. And Grout has been...difficult to reach of late. I felt this news too important to waste time waiting for him to reply to my missive."

Sebastian tapped a finger against his desk. "Then you have the fledgling in your custody?"

"We are holding him at the chantry for now."

"I'll have my sheriff collect him immediately." Sebastian stood and paced to the wall of windows overlooking the city. "I have an agent already in Santa Monica – I'll forward them the details of this transgression. It will be handled within the hour."

"Liam's misbegotten childe? You trust much to one so young."

Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "You're exceedingly well-informed regarding her movements."

"I must be well-informed in all matters to serve the Camarilla, my prince." There was no trace of insolence or insult in the regent's tone, but it grated all the same.

"Indeed." He turned his head to follow the flight of a low-flying plane. "It was not Liam's childe I was speaking of, however." Petty, perhaps, but he didn't like the man assuming so much.

"I see. Forgive my presumption. I shall instruct my apprentices to expect your sheriff shortly."

"See that you do. Good evening, Regent." Not waiting for a response, he disconnected the call. Eyes fixed on the light-studded horizon, he simply stood for a moment, running his thumb across the screen and thinking.

He turned abruptly and returned to his desk. A press of a button and his sheriff stood before him. "There is a Malkavian whelp being held at the Tremere chantry. He must be relocated to more suitable environs until his trial can commence." The imposing kindred nodded and turned away to do his bidding without a word. Sebastian suppressed a sigh. If only all of his underlings were so completely, unquestioningly loyal.

He held himself stiffly as he sank back into his chair, trapping his grimace behind the cage of his fingers. He was surrounded by vipers; he would have to make himself the most poisonous among them if he wished to survive.


End file.
